Cabin camping tests limits of urbanites in the wild

July 28, 2005|By Robert K. Elder, Tribune staff reporter

It's camping for people who don't like camping.

Or, that's how I pitched it to my girlfriend, Betsy.

Chain O'Lakes State Park in Lake County not only has tents to rent but three small, electrically-wired cabins. No running water and no toilets, so it was technically "camping." I could get some long-overdue fishing in, and Betsy could dive into her summer reading.

After some convincing, I reserved a pair of cabins for us and our friends Herman and Adrienne a few months ahead of time. Our pre-arranged camping excursion landed on one of the hottest weekends of the summer, but we headed out with a cooler of ice and reel of "Never Cry Wolf" running through our heads. We were roughing it. Sort of.

I'd had a childhood of intermittent fishing and camping trips in Montana, most of which turned into mild fiascoes.

Now, we were planning a real, grown-up camping and fishing trip--with a rented motorboat, no less. The park, just 59 miles north of Chicago, was providing the four-walled lodging, and despite the lack of plumbing, it was enough to sell Betsy on the trip. She's not a camper, but she'd give it a shot.

Turns out, this is the very point of the cabins, said Kurt Zacharias, site superintendent and park employee for the last 35 years.

The cabins were part of a statewide initiative by the Illinois Department of Natural Resources started 15 years ago in an attempt to attract a different kind of camper. Chain O'Lakes is one of 17 state sites in Illinois to rent cabins.

"It's giving people the chance to enjoy the park without having to buy the camping gear," Zacharias told me. "That's about it, really. We can't control the weather and bugs. We do not spray for any bug control."

The cabins come equipped with the bare basics: two sets of bunk beds, a double bed, ceiling fans for each of two rooms, a fold-out table and chairs, a dust pan, a broom and a fire extinguisher. Outside, a picnic table, fire pit and grill are provided.

With a popular horse concession and the only free launch on Grass Lake, Chain O'Lakes is a well-traveled destination and can be crowded in the summer. But, leaving work early one Friday, we didn't have any problems with traffic or setting up camp--basically unpacking the car and arranging our reading chairs in the shade.

It's a quiet, well-kept and orderly place.

Our camp neighbors included single-tent hikers, families in pop-up campers and scores of lavish mobile homes. At least two campers sported their own satellite dishes. We didn't even think to bring a radio.

The Chain O'Lakes cabins ($45 a night) are a cross between gingerbread houses and log cabins--not for the claustrophobic, but big enough to sleep six people if you're adventurous. Each cabin is about the size of your average quartet of office cubicles--and, depressingly, near the size of my studio apartment in the Gold Coast. And they smelled of cedar, like a sauna.

I should have taken this as a bad sign.

After our friends arrived and I prepared a campfire dinner of the toughest steaks this side of shoe leather, we turned in early.

The early night, we figured, would give us a jump on a day of boating. The boat concession opened at 6 a.m., motorboats went first ($55 for eight hours), and we didn't want to be out on the Fox River during the hottest part of the day.

Our first day had already inched up near 100 degrees, and, as the sun set, it didn't seem to drop off much. After three minutes in our cabin with the door closed, we darted off to nearby Antioch in search of an oscillating fan to plug into our precious outlets. Not even this helped much, and we spend the entire, sticky, cedar-scented night tossing and turning.

But thank goodness modern camping includes a shower building. A bracing morning scrub can make you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Now, a word about our friends, Herman and Adrienne: They're club kids at heart, hipsters who showed up in designer t-shirts and had grand, gourmet plans for their turn at the evening meal. But they didn't bring hats--essential for keeping the sun off you on the river.

While we cruised up the river in search of walleye, bass or even blue gill, Herman borrowed a spare baseball cap and Adrienne wore Jackie O glasses, wrapping her head in a sweater to ward off the sun. This made her look like Katharine Hepburn in "The African Queen."

Though we spotted cranes, a pair of swans and several flopping fish, nothing tugged at my line the entire morning except weeds. The guy at the small tackle shop sold me PowerBait--black plastic worms that smelled something like black licorice and rotting hamster food. The fish didn't like it, and Betsy liked it even less when I left the bait in her car with the windows rolled up. The stench didn't fade until Sunday afternoon.

Saturday night we decided to see the area (in Herman's car), tour Antioch and take in some local culture. The McHenry Outdoor Theatre was showing a double feature, but taking in a drive-in would mean getting locked out of our campsite (the park closes at 9 p.m.).